Ben and Banning: Derailed
by QuestRunner
Summary: Takes place after the events of Olympus Has Fallen and London Has Fallen. When it's President Ben Asher's turn to rescue Mike Banning from the hands of terrorists, will he be able to face his fears and save the day?
1. Chapter 1

Banning sprinted across the tarmac with the President in tow. He kept a secure grip on his superior's arm, looked both ways before crossing the street, and hauled a gasping Ben into the shadows.

"Stay sharp, Mr. President. We only have two more miles until we reach our destination. Do you copy?" Banning watched as the Head of State wiped sweat from his brow and tried to catch his breath from the exertion. He gripped Ben's shoulders tightly. "I said, do you copy?"

"I can't...breathe...hold on..."

"Answer me, sir! Are you okay? What's your status? It's a simple yes or no!" He cussed and spat into his comm. "We've got a situation with Southpaw. I repeat, Southpaw unresponsive."

"I'M FINE," Ben snapped icily. Banning tapped his comm in affirmation.

"Disregard. Code Green. Southpaw alert." He clapped his comrade on the shoulder dramatically. "I'm gonna scout the area. Whatever you do, don't move until I get back and can escort you through the safest path."

"Mike, it's okay-"

" Stay here, Mr. President! That's a direct order!"

"Well, then I veto that order!" Ben huffed, but his words went unheeded as Banning tore through the streets. He ran a hand through his hair in agitation as his security agent disappeared through an alleyway and out of view. Once his breathing returned to normal, the President started to stomp away from his hiding place when Banning suddenly returned, not a hair out of place.

"The next mile is clear, sir. Only friendlies in sight."

"Did you just run a sub four minute mile?" Ben asked incredulously, glancing as his watch. His stoic, possibly Scottish partner waved the words aside.

"No time for that now. Look, we only get one shot at this. We'll make a break for our rendezvous point. Can you make it there, Mr. President? Once we leave this spot-there's no turning back." Without waiting for an answer, Banning dragged his fuming charge onto the pavement and ushered him through a series of twists and turns along the path. By the time they reached their destination, Ben could barely stand and flopped into a cushy armchair in exhaustion. Banning cartwheeled to his side and checked his pulse.

"Stop it!" Ben scowled and slapped his hands away. "I'm fine, I just need some water."

"Southpaw requested water. I repeat, water," the agent commed, much to his comrade's annoyance. Before he had time to blink, a cold water bottle was pushed in his hands and he unscrewed the top with vigor. Banning swiped the bottle and took the first sip.

"HEY!"

"It checks out. Good news, sir. It's not poisoned. You can drink now."

"It was SEALED."

"If it's not the Presidential Seal, it doesn't count." The President threw his hands up in exasperation.

"When are you gonna stop walking on eggshells around me and start treating me like an adult?!" The door next to Banning's armchair opened and a regal figure entered with a grin.

"When people stop trying to kill you, Mr. President," Vice President Trumbull said with an eyebrow raise, hypnotic voice aside. "Which is never. So, how'd your morning run go in the park? I see you made it back to the White House in one piece."

Ben made a face as he chugged the cold water from his now tampered water bottle. He poured some in his hand and ran it over his head and shoulders in an effort to cool down.

"Ugh, barely. I swear if Mike isn't trying to save me, he's trying to kill me." A few nameless secret service agents patrolling the perimeter of the East Garden Room raised their guns steadily on Banning's chest while the Scottish agent brought his hands up in surrender. "IT WAS A JOKE!" Ben roared, dismissing the over-eager agents with a frown. He took another swig of water to calm his nerves, and hacked when the liquid went down the wrong pipe. Banning was at his side in an instant, attempting to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

"You're choking, Mr. President!"

"No, I'm not!" Ben howled as he pushed the Scotsman aside and squeezed himself behind Trumbull so he could use the Vice President as a shield. Trumbull had seen this song and dance a thousand times; he turned calmly, clasping his superior on the shoulder.

"Come now, Mr. President. We're all just looking out for you. Don't forget your personal boxing match with Banning at 1400 hours." Ben looked up in horror as if he had just realized another beat down was on the agenda for the day.

"No! I refuse!" Trumbull regarded him with a look of pity.

"Ben. You've been zip-tied in your own panic room, shot at, survived an Air Force One plane crash, nearly died in a car accident and became a YouTube sensation...most of that all in one day. Forgive us for being a little...overprotective."

"You're right," Ben relented, offering his friend an apologetic smile. "But I'm just saying that my forty-four predecessors didn't include boot camp as part of their daily regimen."

"Spark Plug is making his way to the kitchens, presumably to steal more ice cream. I need agents Rogers and Stark to intercept and detain. Commence Operation Spark Plug," Banning said as he glanced at surveillance footage on his government issued tablet.

"Give me that!" Ben snarled and tugged the device from Banning's hands. "You're tracking my son while he's going to get ICE CREAM?"

"Affirmative, sir. It's his third bowl this week. At this rate, we're going to have to-"

"Don't say it!" Trumbull ordered, but the operative held up his hand.

"He has a right to know."

"The right to know WHAT?" the President spat. Banning ran a hand over his stubble with a sigh.

"Remain calm, sir. I don't want to alarm you, but at this rate, we're gonna have to switch to low fat ice cream. It's for Spark Plug's own good. Our prime directive is making sure you and your son are healthy and safe."

"Okay, that's it! Out, everyone out," Ben commanded, ushering the agents and Vice President out the door. He stopped the lead agent in his tracks before he could stand at attention outside the room.

"Not you, Mike. We need to talk. This is getting out of hand." The President sighed in thinly veiled irritation as Banning checked the floors, walls and ceiling three times for bugging devices before he was satisfied.

"Perimeter's secure, sir. Not that it wasn't before - IT WAS - but you can never be too-"

"Careful, yeah," Ben finished, kicking off his sweaty running shoes and allowing himself to sink into a rather comfy high backed chair. He rarely got the chance to just relax these days, even with Connor, and it felt good to be out from the scrutinizing public eye for a bit. Even if he did have to spend this precious time lecturing his best agent. He closed his eyes for a second, which was as much short lived as it was a mistake.

"MR. PRESIDENT!" Banning hollered, slapping Ben in the face to bring him back to consciousness. His sense of peacefulness shattered in an instant.

"This is EXACTLY what I'm talking about, Mike!" he snapped. "I know this presidency has been tough what with the kidnappings and attempted murders, but I survived! I'm not made of glass! You could say I'm made of...bourbon and bad choices."

"Sorry sir, force of habit. If you think this is bad, you should see the kid's room," Banning replied, referring to his baby daughter. After a brief moment of silence, Ben said with a smirk, "You bought the Kevlar mattress, didn't you?" The Scotsman nodded wryly.

"Don't forget the twenty security cameras, two metal detectors, forty one baby monitors and an eye-scan entry for the baby's room. We're bulletproofing the walls next week."

"Jeez, that kid is safer than the American President," Ben said with a laugh. He could feel his earlier annoyance ebb away as his mind slipped into more familiar territory of families and kids. It felt good to laugh - to genuinely laugh - after the hell they'd been through the past...how long had it been? Three years? He shook his head in disbelief. "Babies are tough. Tougher than you think. And you're gonna regret having forty one baby monitors when your little bundle of joy wakes up screaming in the middle of the night." Banning let out a hearty guffaw.

"Yeah, it hasn't been a picnic. When did Spark Plug start sleeping through the night?" The President shrugged.

"Connor? Don't remember. I never kept track of that stuff. Maggie always-" he stopped, and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, which brings us back to the ice cream. Connor and I sorta made it our thing after his mother...since she wouldn't allow him to have any. It's meaningful to him. To us. Like our daily jokes. So just let him eat the damn ice cream." The secret service agent froze, blood rushing to his face.

"Oh, Mr. President, I didn't mean-"

"I know," Ben said, clasping his friend on the shoulder. The door opened with a flourish and a young female aide pushed some hefty papers into the President's hands.

"Your itinerary, sir. For your upcoming overseas conference." Ben started to throw the plans toward Banning as he wanted to take a shower before handling important papers, when he suddenly seized in fear as he glossed over the words.

"I-I'm to be shuttled by car...at night...to catch my flight with Air Force One...?" he deadpanned, ending the statement with a question. His night travel had ceased significantly since Maggie's accident, other than London, and he hadn't been on a plane since they crash landed and poor Lynne...He looked to Banning with pleading eyes. _Change the plans!_ he thought vividly. He'd never told Banning of his fears but knew he'd understand. He breathed a sigh of relief as the agent snatched the papers and skimmed through its contents with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Mr. President, but these travel plans won't work. You'll be too exposed on the road and an Air Force One flight is exactly what they'll be expecting, no matter how early you arrive to the conference." Banning gave Ben an encouraging smile before passing the documents back to the startled aide.

"But you'll be with him the whole time, Agent Banning. Surely the bulletproof vehicle and secured flight are the safest options. Vice President Trumbull himself approved the itinerary-"

"Then we'll have to change it. I'll speak with the Vice President myself," Banning said and made a show of disappointment. "My apologies for this delay, sir. I'll get it squared away by lunchtime." Ben silently thanked his comrade for his understanding. He feigned agitation and waved the head agent away.

"I'm counting on it, Mike. We can't afford for any mistakes. This conference marks the birth of a new country, Libertalia, and with their natural resources, we need them as an ally." After Banning and the aide left his side, he retreated to his quarters for a shower and changed into a dark suit with an American flag pin adorning the lapel. The moment he descended the stairs, Trumbull intercepted him and steered him toward the briefing room.

"Come with me, Mr. President. We've changed your travel plans for the upcoming public appearance." Ben visibly relaxed and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"That's fortunate. I'm glad everything's in order." Trumbull sighed deeply, slowing his steps.

"For now. But your aversion towards certain modes of transportation can't be completed ignored, either." The President stopped in his tracks. Trumbull knew. Probably the entire White House staff knew of his fears, his weakness –

"Allan," Ben began, but his Vice President cut him off. "

"We had to come up with a compromise. Will you be okay with that, Mr. President? Because Banning's going to go into hysterics if you have a REAL panic attack." Panic attack. Ben thought the words made him sound frail. Not made out of glass indeed, he thought dismally even as his chest constricted at the thought of speeding along a dark snowy road or cowering in fear on an aircraft.

"And, the plan now?" Trumbull smiled encouragingly.

"A morning armored escort drive to Air Force One, where you will be flown to a portside city in Libertalia. It's only a two hour flight. You will then take a train the rest of the way. I know you're more comfortable by boat, but getting you there via sea was out of the question. In the end, we decided it would be more inconspicuous for you to take the train directly to the conference. There will, of course, be a show of Air Force One landing at the embassy, to create the illusion of your arrival." Ben thought this course of action through and nodded slowly.

"This could work. Thank you, Trumbull." The Vice President huffed in amusement.

"Well, I'll take all the thanks I can get, lest you forget how busy I am every time you go off the radar - but it's Banning you should thank. He put the scenario together and is planning to work double overtime to accomplish it."

"HE'S WHAT?!" Ben screeched, eliciting concerned glances from the secret service agents scattered every few feet. "It's just travel arrangements! It's-"

"It's a potential life or death situation. Everything is. From your morning runs to the Prime Minister's death. But, as you don't fully grasp the concept, I'll repeat it - you've created more work for your security team and especially Banning, who didn't even take his full leave after his baby was born. I'm not saying the work is unnecessary, given your past experiences. No one is. But I want you to at least consider this for future excursions." Trumbull's melodic, non-judgmental voice rang through Ben's ears. He felt terrible. He was a selfish, horrible person. Why did anyone even vote him back into office? He stormed the briefing room and glared intimidatingly at Banning.

"I appreciate your assistance, Agent Banning. As of now, I'm reinstating your leave as it has come to my attention you cut it short. You're dismissed." There. Now the idiot could spend time with his family. Ben felt slightly better.

"Okay, for one thing, my leave was extended against my will and I chose to assert my 6th amendment right so that I could continue my services," Banning said defensively from his position bent over a series of maps.

"The right to a fair and speedy public trial by jury?" Ben inquired, exchanging glances with Trumbull who just shrugged. The agent slammed his palm against the table.

"No! I mean the amendment that allows me to work where and when I want, especially if that means protecting the most important man in America." He tore his eyes from the maps, filled with detailed sketches of the President's newest travel arrangements, and ran a hand through his hair. "The truth is, I can't trust anyone else for this undertaking, sir. I know that I can keep you safe and do a damn good job of it, too. Honestly, who else would be skilled enough to foil your assassination-TWICE."

Ben couldn't argue with that logic - and, frankly, neither could Trumbull - so the new travel itinerary was approved and implemented per Banning's watchful eye, and within a week the President was on a train headed to the heart of Libertalia. Despite his initial dread, the plane ride had been happily uneventful and Ben had managed to...well, relax wasn't quite the best description. But he had remained quite calm during the ascent, which he was significantly proud of, given the turbulence. When he realized they were speeding over bodies of water and tropical landscapes rather than austere architecture, his nerves settled a bit more, although he was more than ready to touch solid ground again after the landing. Now that he was safely aboard the train, the President's appetite and sense of humor had returned. He checked his watch. Banning had left their cabin to scrounge up some dinner from the kitchen staff so he could make sure the food was safe for consumption. That was fifteen minutes ago. He hadn't returned.

"Mike?" Ben asked softly, his voice sounding ghostly in the empty room. He fidgeted with the American flag pin on his shirt, half concealed by his jacket. Banning was opposed to him wearing anything that would identify him as an American, but Ben had refused to part ways with the patriotic symbol and now gripped it like a lifeline. "Mike?" He said a bit louder, opening the cabin door and peeking his head out for a quick look. Nothing. He ventured a trembling step out in the hallway, his heart pounding fiercely. "Miiiikkkeee-" a dark figure barreled into his chest and forced him to the ground. He wheezed for breath, his ribs aching considerably. "Mike!" he yelped as loud as he could. The figure then lifted him roughly to his feet and...and..."MIKE? Why-WHAT were you thinking?"

"What was I thinking?! What were YOU thinking, exposing yourself like that-"

"I was looking for you-"

"Yeah, well I HAVE a comm, Mr. President," Banning countered gruffly as Ben stood coughing in shame.

"Uh, right," he said lamely as the Scotsman continued.

"Not that I would've answered. I wanted to see how you'd react if we got separated and you had to think for yourself. This is without the whole kidnapping/damsel in distress thing in mind."

"I wasn't kidnapped! I'm. Not. A. Child!" Ben growled between breaths. He hated that word. Kidnap. He wasn't five years old! "I was forcibly TAKEN by terrorists, which just happened to occur more than once." Banning was undeterred.

"I can't protect you against your own foolishness. You should've stayed in the cabin if I didn't return, kept your cover."

"Last time you told me to stay put, I defied that order and saved your life!" Ben said smartly. Banning pushed the Head of State into the cabin and snapped the door closed. He crossed his arms and regarded Ben with a scowl.

"When we boarded the train, what was the color of the woman's scarf sitting in Seat 5 Row E?"

"I...well...blue?"

"What's the first name of the conductor? Theodore, Erik or Pierre?"

"It's, uh...Erik?"

"At the train station, there was a mural painted on the wall. What was it?"

"Um, I dunno...a tiger?"

"What are the three desserts they're serving tonight?"

"Well, I-" Banning cut off his feeble answer with a wave of his hand.

"Incorrect, Mr. President. The woman in Seat 5 Row E didn't have a scarf. She was wearing a red hat. The conductor is female and her name is Ashley. The train station had no murals of any kind. And the desserts are triple chocolate mousse drizzled in caramel, strawberry filled éclairs and rich peanut butter glazed brownies with a dash of cinnamon."

"HOW WOULD I EVEN KNOW ALL OF THAT?" Ben snapped. Much to his surprise, the agent laughed as he flopped into a cushy side chair.

"You wouldn't, Mr. President," he said and continued to chuckle. "It's part of my job. Makes me reeeaaalllyyy good at trivia. You should see me at parties." Ben smirked and rolled his eyes.

"I get it. Follow instructions."

"Listen, sir, the point I'm trying to make is that I have my strengths and so do you. I don't see how you do it, running a country while raising a kid! And then there's that whole presidency thing, shaking hands with politicians, making motivational speeches, expanding the trillion dollar debt-"

"I get it, Mike."

"I could never do what you do. I'd rather have my fists or gun do the talking. But you have the ability to be more like me-more aware, more proactive. You don't want to be at someone else's mercy again, right? Just like I don't want to have to keep saving your sorry ass. So do something about it. Pay attention, be alert, and most importantly, obey any orders I give you. Deal?" Banning held out his hand with a lopsided grin. Ben smiled and shook the Scotsman's hand firmly.

"Deal. Just don't throw a fit when I surpass you, Mike."

Ben had three triple chocolate mousse desserts after dinner before Banning cut him off, after which he gave Connor a quick call, ensuring he was okay. They still had a solid hour of travel until they reached the conference, and Ben planned to catch as much shut eye on the train as he could, for there would be no rest once they arrived. He groaned thinking of the upcoming political affair and buried his head in a pillow. He HAD to make a good impression with this country, HAD to, God knows America had enough enemies already! Banning exploded to his feet, hand to his comm and face tight with...? Ben couldn't identify the expression. Horror? Disgust? He also stood, glad he was wearing street clothes with a super rad leather jacket instead of his usual ensemble. And comfy shoes. He had learned at least that much from London. Ben assumed Banning was speaking with another agent, but something didn't feel right.

"Mike, what's going-" Banning motioned him to stay silent.

"Who the hell are you? And how did you get through to this line?" Ben's eyes widened in fear. Was his position compromised? He tried to pantomime in order to get more information, but the agent just slapped his hands away. "You lay one finger on him, and I'll kill you, you son of a-" The back of the train exploded loudly, and almost pulled the train off the tracks. Their compartment shuddered and pitched the duo forward. The President caught himself against a chair and cringed until the cabin steadied. Banning tore off the comm and smashed it under his boot. "This is just bloody brilliant. Someone compromised the comms!" He turned to face Ben as he withdrew a concealed gun from his jacket. "Prepare yourself, Mr. President. It sounds like there are some really pissed off bad guys on this train and what they have planned-well, let's just say it's not good." He gripped Ben by the shoulders and gave him a light shake. "I'm gonna give you a gun, Ben. You shoot anyone that isn't me, got it?" Ben nodded while Banning tugged a spare handgun from his bag.

Banning edged himself closer to the cabin door, gun drawn. "That explosion was minor, intended to frighten us and deter us from wandering around the train. If we stay here, they'll eventually find us, kill me, and more than likely make you a YouTube celebrity...again."

"Then let's go find them and take back this train," Ben said icily. The Scotsman grinned.

"Now you're talking! Stay close, sir. We had two agents guarding the compartment. With any luck, they're still alive. If not...just like old times, right?" Ben wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

"Yeah, old times."

Ben followed the agent shakily out of their cabin, gun trembling in his hands. He skittered anxiously a few steps behind Banning, casting nervous glances backwards down the hallway every few seconds.

"Mr. President, you'll give yourself whiplash. Just focus on me, I've got it covered." This did little to the calm the jolt of fear running down his spine; Ben rubbed his neck as if physical touch could dispel the sensation. The train was eerily quiet, the flickering lights seeming to cast him in an unwelcome spotlight. Mike stopped abruptly and swore. "Stark's missing from his post. I'd bet Rogers is, too. No blood, no signs of a struggle. These aren't amateurs. It's too quiet. Either the baddies locked all the passengers in their cabins or we're the only ones left on this train." Ben tried not to state the obvious but failed miserably.

"What now?" Banning squared his shoulders and continued forward, keeping the Head of State in his line of sight.

"We stick to the plan. Make it to the front of the train. If we can't stop it, at least we can get the upper hand by gaining control."

"We?" Ben asked uncertainly. He was sure he'd be stuffed in a closet again.

"I'm not leaving you unsupervised. Not here."

"How thoughtful," Ben grumbled as he followed Banning into the next compartment.

The next four train cars held no immediate danger, and Banning felt compelled to enroll Ben in Secret Service Crash Course 101 between checking for hidden surveillance cameras and sweeping the hallways for terrorists. He had Ben memorize Morse code, the law enforcement phonetic alphabet, the secret to keeping his uniform and tie perfectly flat-ironed during a shootout, and, most importantly, how to make friends with agents from MI6 and Section 20.

"You know, for emergencies," Banning said with a shrug.

"And you don't think THIS is an emergency? Wait! I have Trumbull on speed dial! He'd be able to get us outta this mess!" Ben said as he fished his own phone out of his pocket. As if in response, his cell phone vibrated with an incoming call. Number unknown. He took a deep breath and answered before Banning could stop him.

"Hello, Mr. President," a sultry voice purred as Ben put her on speakerphone. Banning swore and held his gun aloft as the disembodied voice continued. "I hope your time here has been...explosive to say the least. You'll find that we are very gracious hosts."

"I'd say. You rented out an entire train just for me? I'm flattered. But maybe you should buy me dinner first," Ben replied. He sifted through the random pieces of discarded luggage littering the floor and found all of them empty. "What did you do with the passengers?" The woman chuckled. "Oh, the actors? Safely evacuated. I admire you, President Asher. Perhaps we can work together. Turn yourself over to me, and we'll negotiate the release of your Scottish companion."

"I'm, uh, American!" Banning interjected. Ben ignored him and gripped the phone tighter.

"The United States of America refuses to negotiate with terrorists. And I've had better chocolate mousse before. Asher out." He ended the call and exchanged glances with the agent. "Do you think she'll...?"

"Change her chocolate mousse recipe? Probably."

"No, I mean, do you think she'll just decide to kill us both and save herself the trouble?" The explosion two compartments ahead of them was answer enough. Banning hurled Ben to the ground and kept a firm grip on the back of his charge's neck.

"Brace for impact, Mr. Pres-" The explosion ripped through their compartment, busting out windows and scorching upholstery in its wake. Slivers of glass showered down like sugar rain, the larger shards tearing through skin like tissue paper. The sound was deafening; Ben couldn't tell if he was huddled in silence or screaming his lungs out. Even with the hungry flames and smoke, a small part of the Head of State thought there was a chance they could survive this because Banning was with him and he could survive anything...that is, until the compartment shifted to one side. The train groaned in protest, the floor becoming more and more angled; time seemed to slow down as Ben slid out from Banning's grasp. They were tipping. They were falling! They were about to derail.

"Brace for an untimely death, Mr. Pres-"

"NOT HELPING!" Ben snapped moments before the train lurched entirely off the tracks and sent them both flying into the opposite wall. A particularly large briefcase, albeit empty, smashed into the side of the President's head and a pink handbag punched his gut with so much force it drove the air from his lungs. Once the train skidded to a crunching stop, he raised his head numbly from between the piles of travel bags and unearthed the groaning agent. He tried to speak but he was still trying to fill his lungs with air.

"Yeah you sound like I feel," Banning grunted.

"Who...how...what..." Ben wheezed as he crouched to help lift debris off the agent. This proved unnecessary as Banning knocked the luggage and debris away from him with a single punch. "Who was that woman?"

"A bitch."

"How did this happen?"

"They rigged the train with explosives."

"What are we gonna do now?"

"Payback!" Ben rolled his eyes, still hacking. His head was throbbing, but Banning assured him it wasn't a concussion and to stop acting like a weenie. The President staggered away from the wreck, still disoriented when he heard it. Dirt bikers. Just like London. Coming closer.

"AW HELL NO!" Ben bawled as his companion grabbed him by the cuff of his super studly leather jacket.

"Language, Mr. President," the agent chided. He took stock of their surroundings. "Shit! They dumped us in the middle of nowhere! And by nowhere I mean facing northeast approximately five miles from the consulate!" Ben's pounding headache made it hard to concentrate, but even he knew they were sitting ducks out in the open. "Hey, what about over there?" Banning indicated a bleak black ominous forest complete with dark rain clouds that looked like it belonged in a horror movie. "We could find cover."

"AW HELL NO!" Ben repeated, but Banning ignored him.

"Glad you agree, Mr. President. Let's go. Hope those shoes are-"

"COMFY, yes, I pay attention to things, I actually did something right."

"I was gonna say waterproof," the Scotsman smirked as they both hauled ass across the plain.


	2. Chapter 2

Banning lead them through the swampy terrain, pausing once or twice to inspect the compass built into his watch. They avoided the paths but the shrill whines of the dirt bike engines surrounded them at every turn. "We're gonna have to steal their bikes," the agent proposed after unceremoniously dunking Ben's head under murky water as a drone flew past. Ben shook the disgusting grime from his hair and cringed at another squeal from the bikes.

"Thanks, Jason Bourne, but I think I'll stick with walking."

"You don't understand, Mr. President. Whoever derailed the train knows we made it out alive. And now they're trying to smoke us out...literally." He pointed into the skyline for emphasis. "They set fire to the forest. The leaves curling upward...the birds flying north..."

"I don't see ANY smoke or ANY fire! What I see are twenty dirt bikers with machine guns and God knows what else strapped across their backs!"

"Sir, do you see any wildlife around here?"

"I saw a frog in that disgusting swamp water-"

"Me neither. It's the forest's way of warning us. We've got to get outta here fast. Hence the dirt bikes." The Scotsman hefted a large rock in his hand. "I'll creep up next to one of the trails and knock someone off their bike, swap their clothes, steal their weapons, and meet you back here." Ben shifted in the swamp water, ignoring the squishy feeling from his soaked shoes.

"What about me, Mike?" Banning tossed a large rock into his hands.

"I'm sure you can take out one by yourself. Try the rock first. Only shoot as a last resort. It's best if they don't hear any gunshots. Got it?" Ben hesitated as he saw a slight tendril of smoke pool around his ankles. "Let's go."

Ben dropped the rock in disgust and stalked after Banning. He was a politician, not a pitcher or a...a hobbit! What kind of throwing accuracy did Mike think he had? Banning lifted an eyebrow. "You said you'd do exactly as I said. Where's your rock?" The President scoffed.

"I can't do this, you know I can't. Why don't you knock a dirt biker out with YOUR rock while they're speeding past and we share the bike!" The agent's expression shocked Ben into silence.

"Share a bike? SHARE? Sir, I would die for you, but that's out of the question. Mr. President-"

"Just call me Ben, I'm soaking wet and have glass in my hair-"

"Mr. President, there! It looks like there's the answer to your prayers! You ready?" Ben saw the large Humvee lumbering in their general direction. Banning let out a huge guffaw and grinned. "Our ticket outta here, sir! Better than dirt bikes, eh?"

"Yeah...but, uh..." Ben's voice went bone dry despite the slight drizzle of rain beginning to fall. He swallowed hard. "But what are we gonna do about that flamethrower?"

"You mean the flamethrower attached to the Humvee manned by the hooded terrorist burning everything in his path?"

"YEAH. That flamethrower." Banning shrugged and lobbed the rock at the unsuspecting man's face. The fire starter gave a cry and clutched his nose.

"Watch and learn, sir. In a moment he'll lose his balance and fall dramatically to the ground, allowing us time to take out the driver and make our merry way to the closest city." The assailant shook his head and returned to the flamethrower with purpose.

"You were saying?" Ben said sarcastically. Banning raised his gun and fired a single shot. The soldier operating the flamethrower crumpled.

"See? We've probably spooked the driver. I bet he accidentally crashes the vehicle, killing himself in the process, leaving the car in pristine driving condition for our getaway." The driver did a quick donut and headed toward the duo, one hand on the wheel and another on the semi automatic aimed right at Ben's fluttering heart.

"Any other predictions, Mike? Like my impending DEATH?" The Scotsman fired his gun just as the driver did the same. Banning's target slumped over the dash while a trembling President clasped the flesh wound on his arm. The agent ushered Ben to their newly obtained Humvee and immediately plopped himself at the helm of the flamethrower.

"I don't care how much you suck at driving, sir. I call dibs on this little puppy!" The driver gave a groan and shifted in his seat. "Jeezus! He's still alive?" Ben surprised himself by sending a right hook straight at the man's covered face, dropping him back into unconsciousness, and shoved him to the forest floor. The squeals of dirt bikes neared their location, like a hive of buzzing bees. "Gun it, sir!"

"On it," Ben replied and hit the gas. Banning blasted two arrivals with the flamethrower before it overheated and he resorted to using his handgun. "How did they even find us, Mike? How were they even able to pull this off?" The Head of State made a hard left and ran one of the bikers into the side of a tree with a sickening crunch. "It's all my fault, Mike. If I hadn't changed the plans-"

"Ben," Banning interrupted sternly, gun poised at the ready. "It's not your fault. The only ones who knew about the new itinerary were you, myself, Trumbull, and my security team, who are sworn to secrecy under pain of death. No one else knew. Those bastards must've hijacked all forms of transportation just in case-"

"No," Ben said softly, his heart throbbing in sync with the aching wound on his arm. "There was someone else who knew about the plans."

"Dang it, sir! I told you not to tell Spark Plug!"

"I didn't tell Connor, okay? Think, Mike. There was a woman in the room with us after our run. The one who delivered the travel plans."

"The aide!"

"She overheard it all. And if she's part of the terrorist cell and is still at the White House..."

"Then we're f'd," Banning finished.

Ben lost all sense of direction as he swerved around and sometimes on top of oncoming dirt bikers. He hadn't seen any oil rigs thus far, which was odd, he mused, as this country was supposedly a wealth of natural resources...and if this country was, in fact, wealthy, then where was the wealth? So far the only ornate thing he'd seen was the train and the dazzling array of weapons. Were these guys a separate militia? Or Libertalians themselves?

"MR. PRESIDENT GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE CLOUDS!" Ben snapped back to attention and realized the bikers had fallen back (YAY!) into an organized and orchestrated group (NO!)

"What are they-" he mumbled, then realization struck. "They're corralling us somewhere!" Ben jerked hard in the opposite direction, but was met with heavy gunfire that forced him back into his previous course. Banning swore and plopped into the passenger seat, gripping Ben's injured arm hard.

"Brace for impact, Mr. President."

"I'm so sick of that line! What-" he heard it before he saw it. Water. Rushing roaring thundering murdering water. "We're heading toward a waterfall," Ben stated simply, wondering if he was just this unlucky or straight up losing his mind.

"That we are, Mr. President."

"They're gonna force us to drive over a waterfall."

"Unless we just stop, sir, which I would strongly advise against."

"We'll be dead once we hit the water," Ben gasped. "Oh God, Connor..." The Humvee neared the gurgling edge of the free fall and he found that he couldn't breath. His chest constricted. His vision blurred. "Mike. My son." A beat. "YOUR daughter! It can't end this way. Connor already knows what it's like to lose one parent...Mike, I can't..."

"We're gonna make it, Ben!" Banning said. "Get it together! Those bastards are gonna be looking for you from the bank, got it? If we get separated, make your way to the conference. It shouldn't be far away, just a few miles. Get help!" Ben could feel the icy spray from the water.

"Don't let them take me! Mike! Whatever you do!"

"I won't, buddy! I promise!" With that, the vehicle burst from the top of the waterfall and began its dizzying descent into the churning foam below. Ben slammed his head into the dash, leaving a strategically attractive cut on his forehead. Distant sounds of gunfire, shouts and that damn waterfall roar echoed through his skull. He groggily woke up - woke up?! Had he blacked out? - to the insistent jarring of his injured arm. Banning, that prick, was grabbing his arm AGAIN and it HURT; in fact, his whole body HURT and he found himself thinking about Maggie and hoping she hadn't been in any pain because this freefalling business freaking HURT-

"BEN!" He heard a roar from the passenger seat and hey! It was Mike!

"Hi Mike!" he said enthusiastically, glad he had a buddy with him. His mind was all over the place and slow to put the pieces together. He sluggishly realized the two of them were upright, halfway submerged in the Humvee, and Banning was using his Bowie knife to cut through Ben's seat belt. So, he wasn't jostling his arm just for the heck of it.

"Ben? You with me?" A hint of trepidation crept into Banning's usually stoic voice. "We survived the fall. Got it? Now those terrorist maggots are going to come crawling down here any moment, so you've got to get going. Remember what I told you. Be smart. Analyze your surroundings. Get to the conference. Be a badass." Oh yeah. They had bad guys after them. Ben's seat belt came free with a ripping sound and he tumbled against his door. He crawled hastily through the broken windshield.

"That's the second time you've had to cut me out from a vehicle. Thanks, Mike." His initial shock dissipated, allowing the Head of State to think more clearly. He frowned when he didn't get an immediate response. "Mike? Mike!" The Scotsman was still in the vehicle. Banning fixed Ben with a death glare.

"Don't you dare, Ben. My leg's pinned down. I can't get out and those dirt bike freaks are going to reach me long before I drown. So I'll be fine but you have to GO!"

"I can't just leave you behind!" Ben objected. He attempted to clamor through the broken shards of the windshield to reach Banning, but the agent shoved him away.

"You can and you will! You have to survive, sir! Our country needs you! Connor NEEDS you!"

"And Leah and the baby need you!" The vehicle bobbed along the swirling eddies as the icy water reached Banning's waist. The president fought to stay upright on the smashed hood even as his vision threatened to fade to black.

"Take care of them, sir," came the resigned sigh. "They won't break me. I'll buy you some time. And whatever you do, make sure Leah installs those bulletproof walls into the nursery!"

"MIKE! WAIT!" Ben shouted before the Humvee took another sickening lurch and forced him into its chilly depths. He resurfaced moments later as the Humvee tore away and continued downstream with his trapped companion in tow.

"Watch yourself out there, Mr. President...Ben." The Head of State tried to swim against the current to reach the sinking vehicle, but his efforts were futile. He managed to drag himself to the bank and take cover in the dense undergrowth. In the distance he could still smell smoke from the manmade fires. Going back was not an option. Hell, screw the conference, he thought as the terrorists cut the Scotsman from his Humvee prison, bound his arms, and threw him in the back of a truck even as he favored his injured leg. He was going after Banning.

Ben crouched low, thankful for the ample vegetation, and followed the terrorists' vehicle with his sight until it disappeared from view. He could hear voices creeping closer, so he darted further into the foliage until they passed. The bad guys were thinning out; they probably thought he had taken off at a sprint towards the conference. This left the President with some time to mull over his plan of attack...which wasn't really a plan at all, much less an attack. Find Mike, rescue him, and high tail it back to the States. He despaired for a few minutes regarding directions and even tried to make a Boy Scout compass out of a paper clip and his shoelace, but he gave up after a few attempts and decided he didn't need Banning's GPS sense of direction to follow his path. Ben tried to marshal his thoughts together. Maybe speaking out loud would help?

"So I follow the river until it turns left at -" he struggled to think up a name "-Dark Knight Rock, then I'll go around...300 Hill, and finally make my way to-" he squinted in the distance - "Gods of Egypt Tree." Ben repeated these instructions to himself three times before he realized he sounded like Dora the Explorer. He blanched at the thought (this was serious business!) but now the damn names had rooted themselves firmly in his mind and he couldn't think of anything else. "Fine, I guess I'll go to stupid Dark Knight rock first," Ben growled, but enjoyed being in motion with a purpose. He had somewhat of a destination. Weapons were another obstacle altogether.

Dusk came quickly before Ben dragged himself, exhausted, to Dark Knight rock. The distance on foot had been longer than he expected, what with the hiding from random sentries and trying to keep his heart from bursting at every sound that reached his ears. But that wasn't the worst part. It was the terrifying memories triggered by the fall: that dark, snowy road, the horrific crash, the vehicle pitching into the water below, the moment of panic when he was pulled from Maggie's side. He swayed on his feet before collapsing to the ground, the twinkling stars his only companions in this godforsaken land.

He tried not to think of that night. For the past few hours since Banning's abduction he'd suppressed that awful nightmare. He told himself that his situation was profoundly different—it was a waterfall, after all, and he was strapped in a flamethrower-equipped Humvee—but the old wound reopened and he felt Maggie's loss more than ever. He was so tired…He could rest for just a minute…

"Ben," a gentle voice said as an even gentler hand touched his face in concern. He put his hand over her own and smiled as the beautiful face came into view.

"Maggie," he said with a sob. She helped him into a sitting position against the rocky landmark. "I'm hallucinating. Or dying. There was a train wreck. I hit my head when we drove over the waterfall. Maggie...is it really you?"

"He's close, Ben," she said in reply. "You can still save Mike."

"Honestly, I don't feel capable of saving anyone. Not Lynne, not Mike, not you..." He trembled and his wife placed a comforting hand on his arm. "It's my fault, Maggie. All of it. I changed the plans. If I hadn't been so weak, so afraid…And the aide. How could I miss that? How could I put my country in danger? How could I ignore the fact that Mike hadn't taken his full leave after his baby girl was born?"

"This is NOT your fault, Ben. You need to understand that. Mike thinks the world of you, did you know that? He thinks you're a hero."

"No. He thinks I'm a coward. He told me to run away. He knew I'd fail. Mike knew he was going to die and I just let them take him!" Ben ran his hands through his hair in defeat. "Maybe I should just give up. It's not like he'd believe in me anyway." Maggie gave him a reassuring smile.

"Then why did he leave you his knife?" The President slowly raised his head and locked eyes with Maggie. She gestured to a set of tire tracks next to the rock face. Half hidden in the foliage was Banning's Bowie knife, presumably thrown by the man himself before the terrorists knew he had it in his possession. Ben picked up the weapon and held it close to his chest. "I'd say that Mike has more faith in you than you have in yourself." She kissed his forehead lightly then pulled away. "Remember what I told you. None of this is your fault."

"Please, stay with me. I need you, Maggie-I've been lost without you. I can't do this alone."

"I'm always with you, Ben. But now Mike is the one who needs you. Bring him home." He reached a hand out to her even as the melodic voice faded on the wind.

"At least…at least tell me that you didn't suffer, at the end. I did everything I could to reach you! Please, I hope you weren't in pain. I couldn't live with myself if—" Her bell-like laugher filled the air with warmth.

"It was like falling into a deep sleep. You've suffered far more than I have, Ben. You're a wonderful father and you've done a wonderful job raising our son. Forgive yourself. I love you."

"Maggie!" He called for her again, but she was gone. The President was on his feet now, knife in hand, a newfound energy burning in his core. He could do this. Maggie believed in him. It was time for him to believe in himself.

Banning's leg hurt. The resident medic - who might have been a witch doctor or just a sadistic sonofabitch - had chanted a few made up words and threw salt at the lacerations, which was the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of healing. He had managed to save face and not cry out once, even when the fire ants started to swarm. So tough and manly. He could handle anything...he hoped. He'd been sitting in solitary for half a day before two techies barged in and set up a small laptop and speaker amplifiers. Banning was forced to sit on the cold, hard ground, with his back against cold, hard cinder blocks and his hands zip-tied above his head around a cold, hard, metal railing. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. Only once had Ben confided in him about his experience in the bunker. Back then, Banning had told him smartly to be thankful he was alive and that he didn't get the tar beat out of him like poor Ruth. But now, after spending an eternity with his arms stretched above him and the ties digging into his wrists, he felt that he understood the President a little better and regretted his past remarks. The laptop screen flickered on, speakers crackling to life, and a FaceTime session opened up to reveal- "Trumbull!"

Banning's heart sank the moment he noticed the Vice President was confined in a comfy armchair in the Oval Office and that the traitor aide witch was standing next to him.

"Comfortable, Mr. Banning? Oh, I'm sorry. Blowing up your train does make things rather personal between us. I'll just stick with Mike." Banning glared at the blonde bimbo while trying to assess Trumbull's condition. He seemed fine, even relaxed, given the circumstances. "Yes, your precious Vice President is safe and sound, for the time being. One could argue he's been more of a President than your own Benjamin Asher." The agent tried not to rise to the bait and instead switched topics in an attempt to throw her off.

"Where's the President's son?"

"Oh yes. Little Spark Plug. He's honestly been a bit of a brat. Single parenthood obviously doesn't agree with the leader of the free world." Banning smirked at her callous response.

"You're wasting your time. The President's long gone, probably sipping a Capri Sun poolside at the conference right about now." Trumbull let out a small grin.

"Now THAT is news worth being tied up for. You got our boy to safety, Banning?" The aide laughed, smacking Spark Plug's framed picture to the floor, shattering it to pieces.

"He's lying. Ben's on his way to SAVE you, isn't he, Mike? I can see it in your face." Banning didn't see how that was possible as he was displaying his customary grimace. Trumbull's posture wilted slightly in his chair.

"I-that's not true! I told the President to listen to my instructions unconditionally. I ordered him to go to the conference!" The aide sneered, resting her hip against the Presidential desk.

"Benjamin Asher is a coward. And I've made sure every obstacle he encounters reminds him of all his deepest fears and everything he's lost. Handing him his travel plans when he's at his most vulnerable. Advising Trumbull here to speak to the President personally about his inconvenient travel changes. Forcing him to drive directly over the waterfall. All he feels is guilt. Guilt that he couldn't save his precious wife. That he was the cause of the attack on London. That he had to leave you behind-"

"HEY!" Banning snarled, but she continued, undeterred, and spoke to the two techies still hanging around the room.

"Looks like our decision to pull back the troops was successful. Mr. Asher is graciously making his way to us. Alert me when he arrives. We need to have a little chat." Banning swore up and down at the blonde traitor even after her cronies ended the FaceTime session and left him alone in misery.

Ben scaled the chain link fence, ignoring the barbed wire coiled across the top that shredded his leather jacket with ease. He dropped to the other side, unfazed, and kept the knife steady. The past hour or so was a blur of pure adrenaline. The sparse lights he'd seen in the distance radiating from this dilapidated, crumbling town were now above him in a string of battered lanterns. The trip from Dark Knight rock, 300 Hill and Gods of Egypt Tree to this sad development had been five miles, maybe more, but he didn't remember traversing the terrain. Tracks from the offending vehicle that had taken Banning hostage had led him here. He crouched low along a few stalls in the empty marketplace and scanned the buildings...THERE! One structure was newer than the others, with reinforced windows, steel plated walls, and the steady hum of electricity that the other sorry brick buildings lacked. A sentry walked past his hiding place, unaware of his presence. Ben didn't think twice. He grabbed the man and pulled him into the shadows, angling the knife at the man's unprotected throat.

"Where's Mike Banning?" he demanded with a rough shake. Wow! He was pretty good at this macho, badass thing! The man sputtered and tried to wrestle his way out of his grip. He squared his shoulders and pressed the knife harder.

The fire ants got bored with his broken leg around midnight, Banning guessed. While his leg radiated heat and pain, he could still feel those little shits crawling around and his heart skipped a beat when he realized what direction they were headed. He tried to squirm around in an attempt to shake them off, but to no avail. He let out another string of Scottish curses before resigning himself to his fate. Everything was his fault. He had taken an oath to protect Southpaw AND Spark Plug and failed. He had allowed that aide lady access to the President's exact movements and now he was trapped in some backwater country while Trumbull, the rest of the White House staff and Ben's son were at the mercy of the psycho's endgame. Whatever that was. Why the hell was she so obsessed with Ben?

Ben slid the keycard into the door and it unlocked with a satisfying click. He kicked the door open-just because-and entered Banning's cell. The man was zip-tied and squirmed uncomfortably against the cinder blocks.

"THANK GOD! YOU'RE HERE! LEMME OUT! GET ME DOWN! NOW! NNNOOOOWWWWWW!"

"Wow, and all those times you made fun of me for complaining about being tied up in that bunker," Ben scoffed, but he stepped forward with the Bowie knife and started to cut his comrade's hands free. Once the ties were severed, Banning brushed the ants off in a frenzy, expecting Ben to stand warily at the door, hand him back the Bowie knife, ask him what their next move would be, and drown himself in dark memories surrounding his own experience at the hands of Kang.

"Let's go, Mike. It was too easy for me to find you. I only saw one sentry outside and after I took him out, he just happened to be carrying the keycard to get inside the building." There was so much wrong with that sentence that Banning didn't even know where to start.

"You...took someone out? By yourself? With my knife?" He decided to ponder that little mystery later. "Wait, Ben—Mr. President! I have to tell you something. The aide, they had her on Facetime-"

"Mike, not now," Ben chided. "Can you walk?" Any adrenaline he had while crushing the fire ants was gone and he leaned against the wall for support.

"Would it make you feel better if I said 'yes'?" With that the agent's body gave out and he nearly crumpled to the floor. Ben caught him and hauled him upright, using one arm to support most of his weight.

"You know, Leah won't like the whole broken leg thing. That means you'll get even more time off. She'll be so sick of you by then."

"You know she can't resist my rugged charm. Besides, I'll just cut my vacation short again. I'm pretty sure protecting your sorry butt is way more important than a broken leg." The duo limped their way into the hallway and a sheen of sweat rolled down Banning's face from the effort. Ben pretended not to notice and used the keycard to swipe open another door.

"Well, if you do that, I guess I'll have to veto your 6th amendment right." The pair laughed before Banning's voice turned into a wheeze. The Head of State urged the man forward.

The industrial lit hallways of the building echoed with Ben's frantic footsteps and Banning's groans of pain. Ben strained his ears and eyes for some other noise, some other person, some other SOMETHING, but there was nothing. This wasn't right. He gripped the knife tighter, as if the action would strengthen his resolve. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made the Scotsman's rescue seem more and more like a -

"Trap? Very good, Benjamin." A disembodied voice circled around their heads and Ben nearly dropped the agent in surprise.

"Who's there?!" he demanded while squashing Banning protectively in a dirty corner. Banning's woeful sobs of "hey, that's MY job!" went largely ignored.

"Oh, I'm not anywhere near you, Benjamin. In fact, I'm making myself quite at home in...well, YOUR home, to be exact." The sinking feeling became a black hole and Ben had to fight to keep his nerve. He needed to be strong. For Mike. For Maggie. For his son. And Stars and Stripes his arms were burning! Why hadn't any of Banning's training routines involved at least dragging a dummy around? He would have to save that lecture for later. "I know you're thinking about your wife. About Spark Plug. About the bunker," the voice purred. Ben slammed his hand in the wall in frustration.

"Actually, I'm pretty pissed that none of you people know my son's REAL name!" he cried. "Even I'M starting to think I wrote 'Spark Plug' on the birth certificate!" Banning coughed again then glanced up at Ben in disbelief.

"Uh, sir, I don't think this is the time-"

"Don't, Mike. I got this." Ben replied, pulling the agent from the corner and helping him limp forward again.

"Don't you want to know what I want?" The sultry voice was back, with a hint of a whine. So, she didn't like being ignored. And she was wrong. Ben grit his teeth.

"I was actually thinking of giving you everything you want, darling." The agent's eyes widened in horror but Ben pushed him roughly against the wall to drown out his objections. "As long as you're in MY HOUSE and the house of my forefathers, you might as well know where everything is. I keep my toothpaste in the right hand drawer of my bathroom suite. The untampered Watergate transcripts are secured behind a portrait in the Blue room. Area 51 documents were recently shredded in my office. And the new Cerberus codes are encrypted on my computer under code word Enchilada! WE DONE?" Silence. Ben hauled Banning a little more forcefully down the hallway.

"Sir, what-"

"Misdirection. Hopefully that will keep her busy and away from-"

"Spark Plug?"

"CONNOR!" They rounded a corner and Ben took out a baddie with a well-placed roundhouse kick. He gathered the weapons and slid a gun into Banning's hand. "You take the Beretta. I'll take the AK-47." Banning glanced dumbfounded at the President. As if seeing him in a new light.

"How the hell do you know what kind of guns-" Ben smirked.

"My son plays a lot of video games. He's played Uncharted every Christmas since we lost Maggie. And I sorta picked up on some stuff."

"Remind me to play this game sometime," Banning said as he gripped the Beretta with a shaky hand. "And if it's two player, YOU can have the Beretta and I'LL take the AK-47."

"That's the spirit," Ben said as they continued their trek. The hallway opened up into a circular room with a large computer screen affixed to one wall. Ben was about to surge forward to the next door-the very door that would lead them outside, one step further away from the trap that had yet to spring-when his companion's body went slack and crumpled at the President's feet.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mike? MIKE! Stay with me! You've gotta stay awake! Come on!" He slapped the man hard across the face and received a groan from the agent in response. His elation at seeing his friend coherent soon disappeared as the man fell unconscious in his arms, the Beretta dropping to the ground with a clatter. "Jeezus, Mike! I'll find something to help you! Just hold on!" He tore himself from Banning's side and shuffled through the items on one of the steel tables. Pictures. Hundreds upon hundreds of pictures. Him and Connor. Him and Mike running. Him giving a speech. He threw them aside, nearly tearing the handles off the drawers as he dug through their contents. More pictures. Him and Trumbull. Him and the actor Gerard Butler. He turned to another table, flinging the documents to the ground in frustration. Numerous newspaper clippings and interviews, all focused around his experience overseas. And the most recent article: a heavy hearted Trumbull describing what it was like to see the President at the hands of terrorists in London with that machete pressed against his throat, reciting the Presidential Oath as he prayed to God Connor would never have to witness the public execution of his father.

The computer screen suddenly flashed to life and the petite blonde peered at him from her place at his desk in the Oval Office, the decorative flags tipped on their sides.

"What have I ever done to you?" Ben snarled. He threw a crumpled wad of photos for added effect. The aide smiled sweetly. She clearly enjoyed having control of the situation again.

"You may not be aware of it now, but you will be. Soon." His confusion was evident. She laughed softly, cruelly, as she stooped over a shattered picture frame on the ground, pulled out the photo and held it before his eyes. Ben's jaw clenched. "Look how young your son was back then. So happy. Do you remember when this was taken, Benjamin?" Of course he did. Maggie had snapped the picture of him hugging Connor after the polls had announced he'd won the Presidency. "So do I. Everyone wouldn't stop talking about how the 45th president would change things, make lives better. They were wrong. All you've brought to the world is pain and misery." A few hired thugs burst in from both doors, quickly rounding on Ben and for-the-first-time-in-forever-useless Banning. Ben's AK-47 and the Bowie knife in his possession were stripped from his grasp and he was captured in a chokehold.

"MIKE! WAKE UP! MIIIIKKEEEE! Get away from him!" he shouted as Banning was dragged out the door they had previously thought would lead to freedom. Ben was rewarded with a few well-placed punches to his gut, the pain eerily reminiscent to his treatment at the hands of Kamran. No, he couldn't think like that. This was nothing like London. He could handle this. He could—

"You can't do anything, Benjamin. And that's your greatest weakness. You let others take the fall. You give up. In every crisis America has faced since your induction, who has her citizens turned to for aid? Certainly not you, embroiled in your political agendas." He surged towards the screen; pointless given his predicament.

"I've done NOTHING to deserve this! I was held against my will, trapped...I witnessed horrible things...my staff and I supported each other through the fallout, counseled each other through the shock-"

The blonde gripped the photo tightly, hands now shaking with rage, as she slowly tore it in half, the crease ripping through Ben's head. Much like the real life headache he was contending with now.

"You're right, Benjamin, of course. Always the victim." She began tearing the photo into quarters, this time severing the President's left hand, including the ring finger. He tried not to roll his eyes at the obvious symbolism.

"If you do anything to Trumbull, to Connor-" This time the woman laughed, a humorless sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Oh, I have every intention of hurting those you love. That is, if you don't do as I say."

Ben struggled against the hands that held him fast with a choked cry. She waggled a finger at him like she was scolding a disobedient child.

"You're unfit to lead, Benjamin. Weak. Pathetic. You talk about honor, about caring about all those nameless men and woman under your command that died trying to protect you! The innocents in London, the sacrificial crew that took the hit as the missile meant for Air Force One burned their aircraft from the inside out-"

"I'm done feeling guilty for acts of terrorism that were out of my control," Ben snapped, receiving another punch for his effort. He pushed forward, undeterred. "You think I've wronged my country somehow? My own people? I would give my life for them!" The aide slammed her hands against the desktop with an audible SMACK.

"Then why couldn't you save the one life that really mattered?" She flicked her wrist and one of the henchmen tied a gag around his head and started to drag him away from the computer screen, out the very same door that they'd taken Banning through earlier. She smiled as he fought against the men who restrained him.

"This is what I want, Benjamin." She affixed familiar earrings-MAGGIE'S earrings-to her earlobes, apparently happy to have his undivided attention. "I want you to publicly resign and admit your guilt to the entire country." She gestured to the jewelry with a malicious grin. "Do you like it? I found it on the bedside table next to your pillow. Your wife had such refined tastes!" The President shouted profanities at the wicked woman from behind his gag. "Oh, and Benjamin? Do enjoy your flight. I know how much you love airplanes. Maybe you can pretend Lynne is with you while you count the ways you've failed your precious citizens. Play nice, Benjamin. Or you'll never see your son again." His eyes widened but he was powerless to do anything other than growl before the next punch connected with his gut. "And I don't mean that as a death threat," she continued, as if he wasn't being used as a giant punching bag. "If you don't cooperate, I'll make sure Spark Plug simply disappears. You'll never know what happened to him. The price for relinquishing your presidency doesn't sound so bad, now, does it?" Ben managed to spit out the gag and yelled the first thing that came to mind - "HIS NAME IS CONNOR!"- before the material was yanked roughly around his mouth again with renewed vigor. The aide smirked and addressed the thugs. "Gentlemen, escort our guest to the plane so he might reflect in solitude." The burly men shuffled toward the door, Ben in tow, before the woman commanded them to stop. "On second thought, throw Banning in with Benjamin. He'll be near useless with that leg and we can always kill him if our dear President steps out of line." The President was shoved harshly out of the door as the computer screen faded to black.

He was surprised to see the first inklings of a sunrise make its way across the sky. Not that long ago, he'd been boarding the train...the hell train. The derailed from hell train. And now he was going to board a plane. A hell plane. But at least this meant he was getting closer to Connor. The walk to the hell plane was a short one, and Ben was too worried about his son to do any analysis about the aircraft. Banning would be disappointed. Banning would've sucked it up and known the exact age, model, fuselage and VIN and probably taken out all the baddies singlehandedly while piloting the plane if their positions had been reversed. But Ben being Ben had to contend with being dragged across the tarmac, manhandled up the stair ramp and thrown into a plushy seat. His hands were zip-tied tightly to each of the armrests. They didn't even bother restraining Banning when the Scotsman was brought in five minutes later and dumped unceremoniously on the floor, unconscious and his leg still bloodied. Ben's gag remained tighter than ever and he could only let out a muffled cry of relief at seeing his friend before Punching Thug sent another fist into his stomach.

The thugs locked Ben and Banning inside their cabin then took their seats in first class where they were showing an action movie starring Aaron Eckhart and Gerard Butler along with all the amenities: heated seats, unlimited food and drink – even a chocolate fountain!

The plane rumbled to life and began its ascent. The President was too preoccupied with testing his restraints to think about his fear of flying. He took advantage of their privacy, away from the henchmen's prying eyes, and rubbed his face against his shoulder for the good part of an hour until his gag fell away and hung loosely around his neck.

"Mike! MIKE!" No response. The Scotsman snored loudly. He tried to pull his hands free for the umpteenth time, but the zip-ties held fast. He was really starting to hate those things. Ben closed his eyes, remembering the agent's Secret Service Crash Course 101 during his stint on the train. Most of it was useless. What did Banning always say? Be aware? Like THAT was gonna help him get off this flying hunk of metal. He lowered his head to his chest, brushing his chin against the pin affixed to his shirt. Of course! His American flag pin! Now that his jacket was all but destroyed, he had easy access to the tiny embellishment. For several agonizing minutes he used his teeth to pry at the pin until it came loose. With his mini tool, he slashed at the zip-tie holding his right hand hostage until it came free with a snap. He quickly began to saw away at the zip-tie on his left hand. Banning FINALLY began to stir. "About time, Mike!"

Ben knelt down and helped the agent sit up, propping his back against an adjacent seat. The agent coughed then opened his eyes blearily. Ben sent a nervous glance toward the cabin door before addressing Banning again in a harsh whisper. "Mike, any ideas? Tell me what to do." The Scotsman winced as he clutched his leg and looked around. He sighed.

"Mr. President-"

"I almost swallowed my flag pin twice trying to get free, so please, it's just Ben-"

"Mr. President, I won't be much use. For one, their medic skills are crap, my leg is not secure and I could lapse unconscious again at any minute." Ben rolled his eyes, clasping the man on the shoulder.

"Okay, drama queen, but that's not what I asked. Looks like it's my turn to save your sorry ass for once." Banning swore and tried and failed to push himself off the floor. Ben shoved him firmly back down and started taking catalogue of the equipment at their disposal in the overhead compartments. So far, nothing.

"No, Mr. President. You won't do ANYTHING. First, there are-"

"Five armed guards, including both pilots."

"-too many dirt bags for you to handle alone. I'm ordering you to follow their orders from now on. Do everything they say until our protective detail can get you to safety." Ben slammed the compartments shut with unnecessary force, turning to rifle through a few corner bins.

"I'm not giving up, Mike."

"It's not giving up. It's called stalling, just until-"

"Until WHAT, Mike? Until I publicly resign from office? Until this psycho decides she no longer needs Connor as a bargaining chip?" Ben hadn't realized his voice had been rising until he stopped to take a breath and heard the rattle of a key turning to open the compartment door. He raised his fists. If there was one thing he learned from his presidency, it was how to box.

"Sir, a fist won't be any good against a GUN," Banning hissed. "Sit down!" The President shook his head.

"No. I'm done being manipulated. And I'm done being the victim. If I get you into the cockpit, can you fly this thing?" Banning groaned.

"Maybe if I'd gotten a look at the exact age, model, fuselage and VIN-but it's not gonna happen! Mr. President, STOP!"

"Too late," Ben smirked as the door burst open and the entering guard received a crushing right hook to the face. He kicked the figure, ensuring complete loss of consciousness, before taking the terrorist's Glock and barreling headfirst into a second assailant. Ben crumbled from a blow to his ribs, but recovered with a beautiful uppercut that cracked his attacker's nose with an audible crunch. He risked a glance out the window. Soon the fields would yield to a sprawling city and decorated monuments, leading right to the White House's front door.

Ben lunged toward the third assailant, Punching Thug, and smashed the barrel of the Glock into his temple. Punch swayed, but remained standing, and swung at Ben, who only narrowly avoided the impact. One of the pilots exited the cockpit and circled the President menacingly before sending a roundhouse kick to his hand. Ben grunted in pain as he released the gun and watched in horror as it skittered across the floor. Punch and Copilot grinned as they inched closer, effectively closing off his escape and corralling Ben into a corner.

"Mike! MIKE!" he called out automatically, but received no answer. If the agent had blacked out again then he was truly on his own. And scared. Connor...

Punch withdrew a wicked looking knife from a sheath attached to his belt and waggled it tauntingly. Ben tried one last time to press an advantage, but Copilot easily caught him and slammed him hard against the interior wall. The side of his head scraped against an overhead compartment, but that was nothing compared to the blinding heat from Punch's knife. He grimaced as blood seeped from a straight incision that extended from his left collarbone to shoulder. Copilot prevented him from moving as Punch prepared for another attack. "MIKE, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE AND HELP ME!"

Punch suddenly stiffened and clutched his neck before crumpling to the floor, his hands bright with blood. Banning withdrew the American flag pin from the beefy man's neck, stabbed him three more times, then collapsed, exhausted, into a reclining chair. He sipped a bit of champagne then propped up his wounded leg.

"Was that REALLY necessary?" Ben demanded. Banning shrugged.

"No."

The Copilot fumed at the two of them for being ignored like an unwanted third wheel.

"HEY! You may have gotten past the others, but you won't get past-" Ben elbow striked the terrorist across the temple then slammed his head into an armrest, pausing only to drop the unresponsive body on the floor. The President picked up the Glock and squared his shoulders.

"Only one left. The pilot. I say that we force him to make contact with the aide and start negotiations." The plane arched into a glorified swan dive and threw the duo across the aircraft.

"MR. PRESIDENT, PREPARE FOR A CRASH LANDING!"

"I CAN SEE THAT, MIKE!" But this time Ben wasn't on Air Force One. He wasn't in London. And he sure as hell wasn't going to sit around while the plane took a nosedive. Ben stumbled across the floor, flailing into chairs and walls as he fought to maintain his balance. He hauled himself to the corner bins he had investigated earlier, successfully pulling out two parachute vests. He somehow made his way back to Banning without falling and began to fasten and secure the clips around the agent. His head and chest wounds throbbed in protest, but he worked earnestly until they were both suited up. "Ready, Mike?" Ben yelled, using nearly all of his strength to open the plane's emergency hatch, providing enough room for them to jump out one at a time. Wind whipped around him and stole the breath from his lungs. Thankfully Banning got the hint and lurched forward unsteadily until he was standing behind Ben.

"Mr. President! Keep your eyes on me. Release the cord when you see my parachute go up!" Ben nodded; he hadn't been able to hear Mike, but he got the gist. Mike had done this before. He would know when to pull the shoot. Another lurch almost sucked Ben out of the hatch and he suddenly remembered to be terrified. This was insane, this couldn't be happening! He unconsciously shuffled backwards, but Banning's tree trunk arm grabbed him fiercely and tossed him into the open air. He did two somersaults and a complete aerial twist before his body righted itself. Tears blurred his vision as he careened head first toward the ground. He reached for his chute with a trembling hand. Banning smashed into him and swatted his hand away. "NOT YET!" Ben couldn't hear him through the sound of the wind rushing past his ears.

"WHAT?" He reached for the chute again and received a punch to the face. Fine then! He'd just wait until Banning prompted him into activating the release. The Head of State tried to remain calm and take in the view even as the world reached up to greet him at dizzying speeds. The plane veered in the opposite direction, toward an empty park, and self-destructed in midair. Shrapnel flew in all directions and he buried his head in his hands to protect his face. By the time he worked up the nerve to open his eyes, the ground was CLOSE. TOO CLOSE. LIFE FLASHING BEFORE HIS EYES CLOSE! "MIKE! When do I pull the chute?" He completed a one eighty degree turn and saw the agent spinning haphazardly through the air, his body limp and unmoving. Banning had blacked out?! No, this could not be happening! "MIKE! MIKKKEEEE!" He cursed and back flipped to the Scotsman's side, pulling the cord with fumbling fingers. Banning's chute opened and he slipped out of Ben's grasp. The President then reached for his own chute and tried to think of happy thoughts. Like not becoming a human pancake on the White House front steps.

The descent to Earth and corresponding landing were worse than Ben could've imagined. Banning, being heavier and unconscious, reached the ground first - thankfully his parachute got tangled up in an ancient tree in some ragamuffin park, so no serious injuries were had. Ben didn't know how to slow himself down without the aid of a convenient tree, so he tried to fake run in the air like they tell you to do when zip lining, which only made him lose his balance and spin around backwards. When his feet DID hit the ground, it was jarring and his knees took the brunt of the impact. Ben rolled a few feet before gathering his senses and shakily unbuckling himself from the restraints. He couldn't do much for Banning in the tree; he was too far up and relatively safe. Ben had more pressing matters, like not freaking out that he had just jumped out of a plane and, oh yeah, saving his son. He recognized a few road signs and realized he was only a couple blocks from the White House. His home. He sighed. He had no cell phone or money and couldn't risk being recognized as the aide might have assumed him and Banning died in the plane explosion. Right, then. Time to whip out that four minute mile.

Ben sprinted through the off beaten paths that Banning usually dragged him through during their grueling morning workout. Normally he'd have complained about taking so many detours, but he sent the Scotsman a silent plea of thanks. Out of prying eyes, in and out of back alleyways and abandoned parking lots, he was able to maneuver his way to the White House lawn without attracting any unwanted attention. He glanced at his watch with a sigh. Four minutes, ten seconds. The agent would certainly cringe at the number, despite the fact that the President had just survived a train derailment, a waterfall crash, and an emergency parachute jump with a dozen traumatic moments in-between. He ducked behind a trimmed bush in the shape of a llama and peered around the corner as two agents from his detail patrolled the front steps, talking animatedly. Ben had to keep from fisting his hands through his disheveled hair in shock. Agents Stark and Rogers! But...they'd been with him on the train guarding his compartment! Had they really betrayed him in favor of that traitor aide? His fears were confirmed when the aide descended the stairs between the conversing agents, a bowl of ice cream held aloft in one of her bejeweled hands. The fine china was from Maggie's personal collection, the one he'd refrained from using since that horrible day. And that was Connor's ice cream, dammit!

He crawled to a vacant spot near the gate, knowing full well that the llama head provided the perfect blind spot from any cameras. He opened a hidden latch and descended into a crumbling tunnel that fed into the crawl ways between the various rooms and staircases. During the rebuilding process after Kang's reign of terror, he had the tunnels added with reinforced safety measures. He'd ordered the creation of two secret entrances to the tunnels and allowed only Connor, Trumbull and Banning to know of their existence. He came across the steel door entrance, pressed the ten-digit combination and completed the accompanying full body X-ray scan. Screw eye or fingerprint data. If the sensor didn't find a match with his exact body X-ray AND beating heart, the door wouldn't open. Take that Kang, he thought as the door yielded entry. Ben took a sharp right and followed the mental map in his head.

"Hang in there, Connor. I'm coming to get you," he said, making a beeline for his son's room. The tunnel rose sharply above street level then further upward where the presidential suite and guest rooms were located. A newfound sense of pride for his son washed over Ben as he slowly traversed his way through the thin space between the walls. He already felt like this creepy ass passageway was sucking out his soul, but Connor had managed to hide out like this for hours.

A spider crawled over his hand as he walked through a spider web that stretched across the length of either wall. Ben bit back a scream, flailing his arms as much as he dared while pulling off silken strands...then the spider disappeared.

"Aw hell no!" Ben snapped, then stilled in horror. How much had his voice traveled? After an anxious five minutes of waiting (and searching and failing to find that damn spider), he continued his trek until he reached his son's room. His heart stopped when he heard voices. Connor wasn't alone!

He pressed his ear against the wall with bated breath. If that blonde bimbo had sent someone to harm the most important person in his life, he'd be breaking more than just the Golden Rule.

"Don't worry, champ. I'm sure he'll be back any day now," a familiar voice said soothingly. He heard Connor sigh, a hopeless, pitiful sound.

"I hope you're right. I've been texting and calling him over and over but I haven't heard anything from him since the train. She told me that the train derailed and caused a fire. Do you think he's...?" Ben's heart lurched and a raw streak of anger consumed him. The aide had told Connor about the train? She'd made him believe that his dad could be dead?

"Of course not, Connor. Mike's with him and he wouldn't let anything bad happen." Ben finally placed the voice. Trumbull! He pushed the panel aside with such force that he knocked over the lamp sitting on the bedside table.

"Connor? Connor!" Ben called out. His son and Trumbull continued to have an animated conversation, thanks to the recorder on Connor's bedside table. Ben didn't even flinch when some guards busted down the bedroom door and grasped him firmly by each arm. He was marched out of the room and ushered down a set of spiral stairs. He knew exactly where he was going. He could make his way to the Oval Office with his eyes closed, in part because he was there everyday but mostly because Banning had forced him to memorize the steps between each room of the White House while blindfolded. He peeked around the burly men holding him in place, noticing the halls were eerily empty. The witch had probably stuffed his entire staff in the bunker and cut off communication.

"So glad you could join us. The plane crash was a little surprising, but then, I knew the first thing you'd do was find your son. It was easy to set the trap after that," the aide purred as she exited the Oval Office from the rich oak door and closed it halfway behind her, obscuring his view of the room. Her lackeys held him firmly in place as she sauntered toward him and patted the dainty necklace hanging limply from the throat he wanted to strangle. Maggie's necklace. She was doing this to rattle him, to break him harder than any of Kamran's punches. He stiffened his shoulders in defiance. No! He had to stay focused.

"So, that plane ride didn't exactly go the way you planned, did it? You didn't expect me to try and escape. You didn't expect the plane to explode-"

"Actually," she crowed, "You did me a favor. A few more loose ends I don't have to tidy up, what with the crew being dead." She gripped Ben's face despite his protest and tilted it from side to side in inspection. The woman flattened the unruly parts of his hair until she was satisfied with the results. Then she gestured at the torn state of his jacket. "Oh, this just won't do. We need to have you looking the part." The aide snapped her fingers and the traitorous Agent Stark brought her a finely pressed GQ jacket before returning to his post on the front lawn. Ben's jacket, complete with the ornamental flag pin.

"You have what you want! You have me! Just let the others go!" The muzzle of a gun was pushed against the back of his head by one of the thugs holding him in place. The blonde laughed cruelly before giving a curt nod and allowing the guards to release their grip on the President's arms. She pressed the jacket into his hands.

"Put it on. We have a little family reunion to get to and a public resignation to film."

Ben hurled the jacket back in her face.

"I'm not doing anything until I see my son." The aide regarded him coldly, folding the jacket with precision.

"You're not in charge. I am. And I say you won't see your son until you follow my orders." An eerie silence blanketed the conversation as the President mulled over her words.

"It would seem we are at an impasse, then. Show me Connor." The blonde's jaw twitched in agitation.

"No. I hold all the cards here. You will follow my instructions-"

"The United States doesn't negotiate with terrorists." The blonde shoved Ben roughly against a wall, the force reopening his knife wound. She bent close to his ear, whispering, "You pull one more little stunt and Spark Plug-" the aide didn't have the chance to continue as Ben whipped out the hidden flag pin he'd taken from the GQ jacket and scraped her across the face. The wound wasn't deep, but it was distracting enough for Ben to head butt her to the ground while she screamed. He rushed the two guards who had been holding him captive. He felled the first one easily with a punch to the face. He slammed his elbow into the second guard's lower back before swiping his legs out from under him. His badass montage complete, Ben sprinted toward the Oval Office and flung the door open.

"CONNOR!"

"DAD!" the boy answered, voice cracking, as he squirmed tirelessly against the bonds confining him to a chair beside Trumbull.

The President heard commotion coming from the hallway, a sure sign that the blonde devil and her accomplices were recovering from their epic beat down. He knelt beside his son, giving his shoulder an encouraging squeeze, before swiping a letter opener from the top right drawer of the large desk and attempting to free Connor.

"Work fast, Ben," Trumbull said from his place of confinement in the plush armchair.

"Almost there, buddy. It's gonna be just fine. Just keep looking at me, okay? We'll be outta here before you know it." Connor nodded in reply as one of his hands came free.

"Stop what you're doing or I'll be forced to make you. Tell me, Ben, do you really want your son to lose another parent?" the aide sneered. Ben slowly turned to face her lithe form blocking the doorway, gun aimed at his heart. He raised his hands in surrender and stepped in front of Connor lest she unleash her fury on him instead.


	4. Chapter 4

"You have some sort of twisted plan for me, don't you? I know that you want me to relinquish my presidency, but what's next? My public execution?" The blonde smiled devilishly and brushed her fingertips against the streak of red that marred her otherwise perfect face.

"Don't get me wrong, Benjamin. You deserve to die. But not before you pay for what you did."

"My dad's a HERO!" Connor snapped, gaining a nod of approval from the Vice President.

"They're even putting his face on the new two dollar bill," Trumbull added with his hypnotic, soothing voice. "Just saying."

"HE'S A MURDERER!" came her venomous retort. She fired a bullet and it missed the President's shoulder by mere inches. "If it weren't for him, Lynne would still be here! You killed her! You took her life then fled from the scene like the coward you really are!" Ben flinched despite himself. Lynne. He could still remember sitting across from her before the crash, briefly giving her hand a comforting squeeze before their world spiraled into smoke and fire. He could still hear Banning order him out of the battered plane, still felt the sharp pang of regret as he stumbled from the wreckage, unable to say a proper goodbye.

"What has any of this have to do with Lynne?" Trumbull asked, his rich baritone voice attempting to calm the situation.

"It has everything to do with Lynne!" the aide replied, now shaking with unbridled anger. She released another bullet and it sailed past Trumbull's chair, grazing the sleeve of his jacket, and embedded into the wall behind him.

"DON'T YOU DARE TARGET HIM!" Ben snarled, taking a step towards the aide while continuing to block her view of Connor. "You're obviously upset with me, so let's talk! Don't involve them!" She smiled cruelly, once again aiming the gun at his chest while twisting his wife's necklace between spider-like fingers with her free hand.

"I don't want you to simply TALK. First, I want you to apologize."

"My Dad doesn't need to apologize for anything!"

"Quiet, Connor." Ben knew he should be focusing on the gun, but his eyes couldn't stop lingering on those fingers defiling Maggie's necklace...her earrings. This woman was scarier than Kang and Kamran combined and he wasn't sure how far he could push her before she snapped.

"I'm not apologizing for something that wasn't-"

"An apology, Benjamin."

"The attack on London was planned YEARS in advance-"

"No."

"We had no warning-"

"No."

"Our pilots did everything possible to evade-"

"No. No. No! You seriously find yourself blameless, even when you made the decision to go to the Prime Minister's funeral in the first place!" Ben's throat tightened.

"I-"

"Against the advice of your top agent, Vice President and Secret Service Director—which was Lynne—you decided to go to London. You even made an official announcement."

Ben shot her a cutting glare.

"That decision was not made lightly. We had to consider our country's allies, weigh the political advantages." The aide acted like she hadn't heard him and directed her thugs to grab him again. He struggled to fight them, but the burly men were prepared this time and dragged him away effortlessly, tearing the letter opener from his hands. His son's screams hit him as hard as any physical blow as he was taken to the front of the room, forced into his GQ jacket and zip-tied to his own presidential chair behind the Oval Office desk. He grimaced as she tossed her gun to one of the henchman and pulled a small video camera from her dainty handbag.

"Make sure that our guests are comfortable," the blonde instructed and Ben could only watch helplessly as Trumbull and Connor were gagged and threatened into silence.

"Why? Why go through all this trouble to punish me for Lynne's death? You could've used slander, could've defaced my name in any number of ways!"

"This isn't about putting a black mark on your family name," she chuckled, clearly reveling in the power she wielded over the Head of State's confined form. "I wanted you to crumble under your own self doubt, cringe at your own worthlessness. At your failure at being a parent. At your inability to protect those around you. So I gathered a secret army, bribed the right people, helped myself to the U.S. Treasury funds, and created a ploy to lure you directly to me. There is no Libertalia. Never was." Ben clenched his fists in desperation.

"I'll do whatever you say. Just let Connor go," Ben pleaded. The blonde continued her poetic rant with a smile.

"Lynne was the closest thing I had to a sister-a FAMILY. And then my whole life was ripped away. Can you imagine the pain I felt knowing how you let Lynne DIE while your mutt, Mike Banning, spared your life over hers? I wonder if Maggie thought the same thing."

"Do you really think that's what happened? That Mike chose to save me over Lynne?" Ben lifted his head regally, intending to face her brutality with at least some semblance of pride. "There was nothing we could do."

"LIAR!"

"Her injury was too severe. All of us loved her like a sister! Mike even asked her to be the godmother for his child. If you want to blame someone, blame the terrorists that shot the plane!" Something struck him across the back of the head and almost pitched him into unconsciousness. That dastardly woman lifted his limp head and smirked at the streak of red trailing down his neck. He tried to blink the world back into focus.

"No one should be able to see that little injury from the front. Let this be a lesson to you, Benjamin. Next time you talk back to me, I'll take my frustrations out on someone else." He followed her gaze to the two captives bound tightly in their chairs. The aide sighed and walked back around to the front of the desk. "You're going to apologize for what you did to Lynne. And THEN," she smiled cruelly, "you're going to officially resign." He strained futilely against his bonds while she set up the video camera, but smartly kept his mouth shut and shot Connor a look. He was trying to convey a sense of calm, that everything was going to be all right, pleading with his son to not draw attention to himself. Ben cleared his throat dismally, not seeing any other options. Best to abide by her rules now and get out alive. He could deal with the fallout afterward.

"My name is Ben Asher, forty fifth President of the-" The traitor aide slammed her fist down hard on the table.

"No! Not yet! I haven't pressed record!" His jaw clenched. This was absurd.

"Well, get ON with it woman-" He stopped abruptly as Connor shook his head minutely from side to side. The action was plain - STALL. For what, Ben didn't know, but he hoped his son had some sort of plan because he sure as hell didn't.

"Wait." Ben said desperately. She shot him a scowl of impatience. "Please...I can't concentrate while you're wearing my wife's jewelry. You'll have to take the necklace and earrings off. If not for me, then for my son." The fingers twirled around the necklace once again as her face lit up with another cruel smile. She left the camera unattended to circle around the table and watch the President grimace at her approach. He forced himself not to glance in Connor's direction to see the younger Asher's reaction. Instead he had to stifle a grunt of pain as the aide pressed her hand against the knot on the back of his head.

"You know I can't do that, Benjamin. I want you in absolute misery. Does it hurt? Seeing the jewelry you've kept locked away in the closet, untouched, sitting in that pink and gold music box engraved with her name?" Ben had to stop himself from screaming. Connor. Think of him. He had a plan. He had to keep her talking. The President let out a shaky breath.

"You went through Maggie's things. Her private things." The blonde shrugged.

"I had a lot of downtime while my men secured the premises. I went through boxes and boxes. That can't be healthy, hoarding those memories away like that. Do you know how I coped with losing my best friend? I destroyed everything that reminded me of her. And it's how you'll cope from now on, too." Ben gaped at her in shock. His body trembled under her villainous gaze.

"No. NO! You didn't! You couldn't!"

"I had the boxes burned an hour ago. Now that I think about it, I really should've let Spark Plug watch." She turned on her heel and returned to her spot next to the camera. Ben was breathing so fast he could barely concentrate on the card she held blotted with red ink. "Read the lines word for word."

He felt like he was hyperventilating. Yes, the horrible accident that claimed his wife's life happened years ago, but he still wasn't up to going through her things. Her memories. After London he had thought he could...maybe...but then he was invited to Libertalia, which had given him another excuse to avoid her possessions. His blood boiled. Now he would never get that chance.

"Benjamin, read the lines," she prodded impatiently while he tried to focus on his breathing. He was shaking almost uncontrollably from his anger, his vision blurred by rage and tears and that damn cowardly hit to the back of his head. "Benjamin. Read. The. Lines." At his continued silence, she stalked over to one of her henchmen, grabbed her handgun, and trained it on the President's forehead. "C'mon, Benjamin. I'm done playing games. Read."

"I-"

"NOW! Apologize!"

"Maggie, I'm so, so sorry-"

"Not to her!"

"Connor, I love you-"

"STOP!"

A loud crashing sound and a strong gust of wind surrounded Ben. He closed his eyes and attempted to tilt his head away from flying shards of jagged glass as the window exploded behind him. The blonde shrieked but Ben couldn't tell the source of her terror until he opened his eyes carefully against the onslaught of chaos. Unbelievably, incredibly, it was Banning!

"Mike!" he called happily.

"Good to see you again, sir. Did you break that four minute mile?" Banning asked as he cracked the side of the closest thug's skull with his elbow. The agent then ducked behind the desk and emptied his clip into the second thug. The aide swiveled to face this newest threat and brought the gun level to Banning's chest.

"I was wondering when your Scottish lapdog would show up, Benjamin."

"For the last time, the man's not Scottish!" Ben hissed. Banning brought up his own gun in retaliation.

"I picked this little beauty off one of your men outside. Next time you see him, tell him thanks for me. He's the one impaled on the wrought iron fence." The blonde bimbo suddenly started laughing, a hollow, chilling sound.

"I still have control! I still have the President at my mercy!" As if to support her statement she allowed the barrel of her gun to drift to Ben's struggling form.

"Shift three, get your goddamn hands in the air! It's over!" Banning spat. Ben raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Don't you mean 'hashtag'?"

"Whatever! Just do it, you hag!" The poisoned smile never left her ruby lips as she gave a mocking curtsy.

"As you wish," the aide said as she squeezed the trigger. Ben's side erupted in white hot pain. His attacker sauntered toward him as if to relish her victory, but the President retaliated with an epic head butt that sent a stream of blood dripping down the blonde's flawless nose. He heard a dull roar that might've been from his pounding head, his own strangled gasps or Banning's furious tackle as he sent the aide slamming into the floor. His side burned and blood flowed freely from the wound. Without his hands he was powerless to do anything but sit in anguish although he didn't know if providing pressure would alleviate the pain or make it worse. At least it would make him feel more productive and not like he was bleeding out on his favorite chair. Dammit, his favorite chair! What hadn't that woman ruined? The agent was at his side in a moment, cutting away the tight zip-ties and inspecting his wound. Ben yelped at the contact, trying to slap Banning's hands away, but the Scotsman shrugged off his weak attempts.

"Wound's clean, sir. Bullet went right through."

"Right through? You mean, right through my favorite chair?!" His head felt foggy. "Connor okay?"

"Yeah, he's still tied up, but the kiddo's just fine."

"YOU DIDN'T RELEASE HIM?" the President growled angrily, but his voice sounded weak and tired. Banning scoffed, pressing Ben's hand to his side and forcing him to exert pressure. The pain intensified because of course it would; why he expected anything different was laughable.

"I'll get to Spark Plug and Trumbull in a minute. Gotta make sure my star player is stable. Hashtag ninja medic skills!" Banning sprayed some Neosporin and slapped a bandage from out of nowhere over the gunshot wound and Ben howled in annoyance. He needed to think about something else, anything else...

"How did you even GET here, Mike? You blacked out after we jumped from that plane-thanks for that, you prick-" Connor's eyes widened because DAMN his badass dad jumped out of a plane for him!- "then you got hung up in that tree and I had to just leave you there!" Ben sucked in a gasping breath, pain spiking as he inhaled and Banning turned to free the other two, kicking the aide's unconscious body on his way.

"Oh, that? Well, when I woke up, I tore off some tree branches with my bare hands, used some abandoned kite rope to fashion a split, stole a motorbike from two guys and a kid riding to Vegas, overpowered the small army guarding this place using only my knife and my wits, then hauled ass through this huge window until I saved the day!" Ben groaned.

"Not one of your tall tales. I mean, for real." Connor came free from his binds and tore off his gag. He bounded to Ben's side and pressed his small hands over his father's wound. Mike winked as he helped Trumbull. "Who says I'm lying?"

The Vice President steadied the Head of State as Ben attempted to stand and his legs buckled from the effort. "Easy, Mr. President. I think you've done enough heroics for one day," he chided with that comforting, honeyed voice. Ben sighed.

"I don't think I did anything, Allan. If anyone deserves the praise, it's Mike."

"That's not true, Dad!" Connor interjected. Banning nodded.

"Spark Plug's right. I wouldn't even be here right now, saving your sorry ass, if you hadn't saved mine first. Besides, do you know of any other father who would break into their own White House to rescue their kid? I sure as hell don't." Ben tousled his son's dark hair as he took another feeble step.

"Yeah, well, that's just part of being a parent. I'm sure you'd do the same for your little girl." The agent scrubbed a hand over his face with a groan.

"If anyone even so much as LOOKS at my little princess the wrong way, I'm pulling out the AK-47!" Banning declared. Ben chuckled, even though the movement sent waves of pain coursing through his chest.

"And I'll be right there with the Beretta."


	5. Chapter 5

"Stay sharp, Mr. President. We only have two more miles until we reach our destination. Do you copy?"

"Hell yeah. Sure you can keep up, old man?" Ben taunted as he checked his watch. Still on pace. His side still twinged a little but it was better than the weeks of mandatory bed rest. He couldn't wait to start boxing again. Whereas before he'd considered his vigorous training a smothering, necessary evil, now he understood. It was a part of his life, his presidency; just like his heartache, scars and kidnappings...his friends, freedom and beautiful son. He wouldn't have it any other way...but Banning might, he wondered wryly, as the agent triple checked the alleyway for danger and twice checked the President's pulse even though he was obviously breathing. Ben sighed, but it was a sound of defeated contentment.

"Okay, sir. Just have to cut through the park. One...two..."

"RACE YOU!" Ben roared as he surged forward. Although Banning knew perfectly well the Head of State wouldn't make it too far ahead of him, he still spat out a few Scottish curses before catching up.

The duo entered the White House engaged in good-natured banter. Banning limped slightly, but otherwise his manly status enabled him a full recovery from the broken leg and fire ant attack.

"Besides, Ben," Banning continued as he followed the President into the East Garden Room, "we can always view the video surveillance, but I promise that I made it back to the White House first! I clocked my last mile at three minutes, fifty seconds."

"I beat you fair and square, Mike. I told you not to throw a fit once I surpassed you." The head agent and his charge flopped onto the couch, resting their feet on the decorative coffee table. Trumbull entered soon after and tossed two water bottles in their direction with a warm smile. Ben passed his drink to Banning without question as the man unscrewed the top, sampled the contents, and handed it back to him with a nod of approval.

"So, how'd your morning run go in the park? I see you made it back to the White House in one piece," the Vice President said. "And did our very own President Asher beat Agent Banning and steal his coveted personal record?" Ben and Trumbull laughed at Banning's flushed face.

"That's it! We're checking the cameras! Don't expect any sympathy from me tomorrow!" Banning scowled in response. Ben waved the words aside with a grin.

"Didn't Allan tell you? After today you are-officially-on vacation. EXTENDED vacation. Three full months. And you will spend every waking moment of that time off the premises with Leah and the baby. Well, except when the three of us go mackerel fishing." Banning nearly choked on his water in protest.

"But-!"

"Ben and I have already booked the cabin and bought you your very own fishing pole," Trumbull added proudly. He still had a score to settle with those fish, after all.

"Four full days of catching fish and kicking back beers," Ben added to sweeten the deal. The Scotsman jumped to his feet, still unconvinced.

"But-!"

"If you even attempt to return to work before your leave is up, I gave my security detail specific instructions to throw you in the back of the armored truck and drive you home."

"BUT-!"

"And you won't have to worry about me while you're off. I won't be traveling out of the country anytime soon. At least, not until you get back. Then we've got an Air Force One flight to Paris. And...what else, Allan? A midnight drive to a conference in Italy and a short train ride back to the hotel."

"Affirmative, Mr. President," Trumbull acknowledged with his beautiful voice. Ben stood and put a hand on Banning's stiffened shoulder.

"Be with your family, Mike. I promise that I won't do anything rash without your approval. Besides, tomorrow is Maggie's birthday and I have something special planned with my son. And I'd rather you not be around to count the bowls of ice cream we go through before the day is over." Ben saw the agent crack a smile and raise his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay. I can tell when I'm not needed," he said jokingly. "All right, Ben, you win. But I'm still gonna check that camera before I leave. AND expect me to catch more fish than both of you combined!" Ben shrugged, ignoring the faint twinge in his side.

"Trust me, Mike. I'm counting on it."

The fort. It was Connor's idea. They "snuck" around the White House, giggling and swapping lame jokes, until all available couch and chair cushions in the near vicinity were confiscated. Then they piled them haphazardly in the East Garden Room, propping them up on their sides in semblance of miniature walls before stealing clean bed linens from the laundry and layering them across the cushions like a misshapen roof. Their protective detail was ever present by the door, but inside their fort the outside world didn't matter. It was simply a father and his son and some damn good chocolate chip ice cream.

Ben refused to turn his wife's birthday into a dismal affair. He'd spent the whole day playing Uncharted with Connor, making fun of their favorite movies and totally schooling his son in trivia. It was 2:00am and instead of feeling sleep deprived after a long day, their energy was contagious. Ben shoved his empty ice cream bowl outside the fort and winked at his son. "I've got a surprise for you. Something of your mother's." Connor's eyes flashed with emotion and he scooted closer to his father. Ben dug out a small metal box he had hidden between some pillows. It had ugly scorch marks marring the outside but was otherwise intact. "This was one of the only things boxed up that survived the...the fire." He opened the lid and dumped the contents carefully on the floor between them. "Most of this you've never even seen. Before, I couldn't bring myself to look...to even think about...it-it was selfish of me. I'm sorry, buddy."

"Dad, no, it's not your fault." Connor said gently. Ben threaded his fingers through his hair and nodded. "Maybe not. But even though some of her possessions were taken from us, we still have her in our memories. Her love in our hearts. And, apparently, this weird little Thunderbirds bobblehead doll." Ben picked up the little trinket in his hand, eyes crinkling with mirth, when Connor's fingers ghosted over a faded picture.

"Dad, what's this?" Ben eyed the small photo and smiled. "Our first date. Did I never tell you? Well, it was a Thursday afternoon and..."

Their voices trailed off into the night, interspersed with fits of laughter, until secret service agents checked in on them the next morning, sound asleep and at peace inside their own private sanctuary.


End file.
